Act Three
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Grab your umbrella. The storm clouds are gathering...
(In the tour bus between sets)
BR-(screaming)
What the fuck do you think is goin' on here? You had too many
fuckin' days off and you think this is a game!? You think I'm the
only one that's gonna work up there while you motherfuckers sit
out there and clam all over this fuckin' joint!? What do you
think this is anyhow? What kind of playing do you think this is?
What kinda miscues do you call this? What fuckin' band do you
think you're playin' on, motherfuckers? You wanna fuck with me on
the bandstand?...Shut that fuckin' door! I'm up there
working my
balls off, trying to do somebody a favor, and you motherfuckers
are suckin' all over this joint. What kind of trumpet section do
you call this tonight? And saxophones...you've gotta fuckin' be
kidding me! How dare you call yourselves professionals. Assholes!
You're playin' like fucking children up there. You got your
fuc...(distracted momentarily) where the fuck are you?
That's marvelous. (turns to the Trombonist) You've got
your fuckin' horn so far deep in the fuckin' bell, we don't need
to have a band here tonight. You afraid you won't be heard?
Everybody can hear your fuckin' clams out there. You don't need a
mike for that. You're takin' up too much fuckin' time blowin'
what? Shit!! You stand out here all night tryin' to blow your
fuckin' brains out... when it comes time to play, what do you
play? Clams!! You got nowhere to fuckin' go tonight the next set
because if I hear one fuckin' clam from anybody, you've had it!
One clam and this whole fuckin' band is through...tonight!! Try
me! You got some fuckin' nerve. Nights off, nothin' to do, and
you come in and play this kind of shit for me...Fuck all of you!!
You're not doin' me any fuckin' favors, you're breakin' my heart
up there. I gotta go up there and be embarrassed by you
motherfuckers? I've played with the greatest fuckin' musicians in
the world. How dare you play like that for me! How dare you try
to play like that for me. Assholes!! I get fifteen fuckin' kids
in rehearsal. The fuckin' time in this band is incredible! We
don't play two fuckin' bars in one fuckin' tempo. Not one! You
can't keep fuckin' time and play, there's too many things to do,
isn't there? You can't pat your fuckin' foot and play. You're all
over the fuckin' place. Miscue after miscue...You try one fuck up
the next set, and when you get back to New York you'll need
another fuckin' job. Count on it! Now get out of my fuckin' bus!
Right now! (Band members shuffle out in a daze)